


Father's Day

by thought



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker gets reassigned. This is more complicated than one might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day

So Tucker gets reassigned. Everybody gets reassigned, after Tex. Church has divided his life into 'before Tex' and 'after Tex' and seems determined to inhabit the interstices indeterminately like the ghost he probably isn't. Church is also a fucking asshole who doesn't seem to care that Caboose is making himself sick with worry over him, or that Doc wakes up crying every morning like clockwork, or that, hey, Tucker's fucking kid was on that fucking ship when it blew up. So yeah. Tucker takes his armour and his datapad full of totally classy videos and his pink elephant of gut-twisting grief and he ships out wherever the hell they tell him to go.

This turns out to be more complicated than expected. He spends three nights as extra weight on a standard patrol cruiser before Freelancer gets their shit together and sweeps him away in the proverbial unmarked black shuttle. After that there's debriefing after debriefing, medical exams literally twice a day, and way too much time filling out psychological assessments while the creepiest dude he's ever met --first name The, last name Counselor, Tucker assumes spitefully-- sits silently across the desk and stares at him, unblinking. When he tells them captain Flowers is like, 're-animated kinda smelly corpse' 'I'm wearing his armour because fuck you that's why' dead he gets two bonus security guards outside his door at night. Tucker is very aware the war is not over, but he asks if he can go home, anyway. He's not surprised by the answer, but it gives him the mental justification to start coming up with escape plans.

It's March when Tucker leaves Blood gulch. It's late May when somebody higher up in Special Projects starts poking around Project freelancer. Tucker answers the same damn questions for a new and exciting audience of strict officers and faux-empathetic psychologists. Unlike anybody with Freelancer they actually identify themselves as ONI3, which he figures has to mean something. Theoretically everybody's on the same side here, but from the tight-lipped way The Counselor is letting these newcomers have full access to Tucker's reports he's starting to get the feeling that The Great War is one of many battles being waged.

It's June when Tucker finds out Junior's alive. The ONI3 officer shows him pictures and video of his son hooked up to machines, lying tied down with heavy cuffs on sterile white sheets. She says he’s almost entirely healed after the destruction of the ship. She says he's been learning English. She says one of the civilian contracted Sangheili cultural experts has given him a name (Tucker isn't sure how he feels about that part, but he stomps the discomfort down because the officer isn't done talking). She says the hybrid process is fascinating. Says there are already grant proposals being written by eager scientists, already murmurs of the possibilities for genetic warfare. Everyone knows the Sangheili are the Covenant’s most effective fighters.

Tucker tries to keep his smile in place. He's been playing nice for three months, he can probably keep it up a little longer for the life of his kid. He places his hands flat on the desk, leans forward. Keeps fucking smiling.

"How about you tell me what the fuck you want from me, lady."

...Ok, so maybe he's using a loose definition of 'nice'. Like he said. His kid's life is apparently on the line.

The officer smiles right back. She's better at this than he is. "I'm very glad you asked," she says. "Because as much use as your child is to us dead, he's of far greater value alive. Sort of like you."

"Oh good," says Tucker, and does not glance over his shoulder at the silent guards on either side of the door.

"We're sending you to Sanghelios," she says.

"And what the fuck are we supposed to do there other than get fucking blown into tiny fleshy bits within the first five seconds while screaming pathetically?"

Her smile becomes, for just a moment, something closer to real. "From your reports, it seems like you're well-practiced at creating... discord. Questioning authority. Creating confusion." She stands up. "Go, Private Tucker. Have fun. Try to fuck things up, I hear you're good at that."

*

Tucker gets a crash course in Sangheili culture over a shaky video feed from an enthusiastic PHD candidate, and a whole list of boring ass textbooks on diplomacy and religious studies that he skims for about three hours and never looks at again. The ONI officer tells him flat out that as soon as his Pelican enters Covenant territory the UNSC will no longer claim knowledge or responsibility for his existence.

"So just like Blood gulch all over again," he says cheerfully, and kicks his feet up on the desk.

The day before he leaves The Counselor escorts him into a new office, dismisses the guards, and gives him the com frequencies that will give him a direct line to freelancer Command.

"You'll be expected to check in every day," he says, "And obey any directives which are passed on to you."

Tucker memorizes the codes and manages not to roll his eyes at the fucking disaster that is apparently internal Special Projects politics.

The first time he sees Junior in four months the little guy's drugged to the gills and strapped to the wall of a pelican like heavy cargo. He's also... not so little, anymore.

"What the fuck?" Tucker says. The counselor gestures him to his own seat but does not enter the ship.

"Simply a safety precaution, Private Tucker. You will both be free to move about as you like as soon as you have landed."

The pilot is a twitchy kid who flies with his helmet off and spends the entire flight, even the terrifying sneaking and almost getting shot down parts snapping his gum. Tucker forgoes the safety harness to sit against the back wall where Junior is tied down, resting his head against his son's side and babbling out whatever stupid stories he can think of. It reminds him of those first days after Junior was born when Tucker had no fucking clue what you say to babies. He still doesn't know what to say to his kid, but he's figured out pretty quick that that's not so important in the grand scheme of things.

The pilot tosses Tucker a syringe once they've landed. "It's to wake it up," he says. "The alien. Once you're off the ship, ok. Like. Get it out of here before you inject, dude."

"Fuck you, dude," Tucker says mildly, and unstraps Junior. He struggles under the weight even in his armour, but he gets them both off the ship as fast as he can.

The pilot doesn't even bother to wave, just lifts off hard and fast, thrusters protesting and leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. Tucker settles Junior down in the dirt, glad they appear to have been dropped off in a relatively deserted area of scrubland. He injects Junior (harder than expected through his tough skin), and clicks on his radio while he waits for him to come around.

"Command?" he says. "This is Private Lavernius Tucker to Command, do you read?"

"I read you, Private Tucker," a woman's voice crackles back after a moment. The lag's not too bad, then. "You make it there safe? Hotel to your liking?"

Tucker grins a bit. "Well, I haven't checked for mints under the pillows yet. I'll have to get back to you. And just ignore any, uh, pay-per-view charges on the account."

He misses what she says next because there's an explosion overhead, way too close for comfort. It takes him a good thirty seconds before he realizes it was probably the Pelican.

"Uhh, Command?" he says, a little weakly. "We've got a problem. I think my ride just got shot down."

He glances around, actually taking stock of his environment and judging time to cover with Junior not yet awake while he waits out the lag. When Command's voice comes back on the line it's lost the joviality. "No, there's no problem, kid. They-- we were kind of expecting that."

"What the fuck?” says Tucker, but he's not as incredulous as he'd like to be. "What the fuck, I mean, the dude was obnoxious, but... that's harsh."

Beside him, Junior stirs. There is still an instinctual part of Tucker that wants to flinch away, but he quashes it brutally. "Hey, buddy," he says instead. Junior rolls onto his back, grunts. Finally looks up directly at Tucker.

Command speaks in his ear. "Proceed with the mission, Private Tucker. Everything's going as it was predicted."

Junior sits up. "Father," he says, annunciation careful and deliberate, like he's been practicing.

"Yeah," says Tucker. "Uh, yeah. That's me. Been a while, huh?"

He doesn't realize he's left his radio open until Command says, "Hey, kid. I don't need to hear the mushy stuff, this channel's already risky enough as it is."

"Sorry, sorry," Tucker mutters. "Tucker out."

"Yeah," she says. "And hey, Private Tucker. Check your calendar. Happy father's Day. Command out."


End file.
